This life of mine
by Hinikuna
Summary: Life in prison was proving to be more difficult than Loki, god of mischief, had ever thought possible. (Mild spoilers from Thor: A Dark World)


**_Author's note: This story was written for the_ _"Writers Anonymous One-Word Prompt Challenge". Key word: life._**

 ** _All dialogues between Loki and Frigga are exactly the ones from Thor: A Dark World._**

* * *

I stared ahead at the wall of glass in front of me, and wished nothing more than to tear it apart piece by piece. I wished to walk through it, break it in a million slices so it may never keep me from the outside world ever again.

In that moment I wished I could throw so many people in this place, have them figure out a way out this glass case, and be right outside to laugh in their faces as they fail. But I knew this kingdom enough; I knew this cell enough to realize there is no way out from the inside. Not without assistance, and something told me I would not receive such a thing.

I brought my hand up to the thin glass that separated me from freedom, and for a second, just for a single moment, I was tempted to touch it, just to see if it really was there, if it could actually keep me locked away. However, one moment later, I stopped myself and recoiled, making a fist and backing away from the damn thing, suddenly feeling that much more irritated than before. After all, I knew this cell enough to know, it would take just one touch and my fingers would be burning throughout the night, and that was just annoying.

So without testing my little experiment, I sat down on my chair by the table, and picked up the nearest book, the one with a dark cover and green lines that slithered like snakes. Even though I had read it several times before, and knew the lines by heart, the number of activities I was allowed to do to pass the time inside my cell was considerably limited, so I read most of my time, and tried to ignore everything and everyone from the outside. If I could, I would have left the whole world outside as well.

But I did not always manage to block it all out though.

''That is him''

''The dark prince?''

''I think so''

I was not sure when the conversation between those two guards began, since I had been trying my best not to hear their annoying voices travelling through the golden hallways of the prison. Usually guards used up their time merely to mock the prisoners, or parade around the cells as if we were statues in a museum for them to look at, as if we were animals in display.

Needless to say, guards were not my favorite type of people, and I avoided an interaction with them whenever I could, because taunting them without my magic wore off kind of quickly, and I never felt like having an actual honest conversation with any of them. But in that moment, as I was distracted, their voices turned into harsh whispers right outside my cell, and some of their words reached my ears in a vicious taunt I could not ignore.

''How the mighty have fallen…''

All my attention immediately shifted to those men who were free, and who were currently watching me from the other side of the glass. I stared right at them, and silently willed them to say something else about me, something right to my face.

They did not, of course, because even though I was the one locked up, my name still carried the reputation of a madman, and I had become a powerful enemy nobody would wish upon their head. So I knew they would not talk so freely after I had let them know I was listening, not at least when a tiniest doubt existed in their minds, that someday I could get away from this place, and have my revenge on all those who had wronged me, who had annoyed or failed to support me. I was sure they had heard enough stories about me to know, I always came back stronger than I had ever been, and I would remember their words. I would engrave them in my mind like a scorch mark.

''Would you like to say something?'', I prompted, lifting an eyebrow.

My tone had been soothing, calm, yet with a hidden layer of darkness they could sense easily enough. It had the desired effect, since both of them paled slightly, and quickly turned around to leave, too shocked to even do it in a graceful matter. I smirked; satisfied I had driven them away with merely a glance, and I thought the feeling was almost as sweet as if I had used magic on them. After all, witnessing the manifestation of someone's fear in their eyes always made me day just a tiny bit more amusing, and I was glad to see I could still scare somebody else even in my current situation.

I returned my attention to the book still in my hand, and was just about to get into the story, when I heard it:

''So this is what is left of the god of mischief'', one of them announced, in a low, nervous, and yet mocking voice that hit me like lightning. I raised my head and searched for his face, but I could not tell which one had talked, for both of them had quickly ran away like scared cats, not able even to own the consequences of their actions.

Pathetic.

How could such petty creatures insult me when they were clearly so afraid I would jump out of my golden cage and rip their throats out, was beyond me. The way they had retreated, with not so much as a glance in my direction let me know straight away they were not brave enough to make enemies out of me. They would most likely run in the other direction if the day ever came when they had to face me in battle.

But they had still talked…they had still dared to mock me, and even if they had done it in fear, that simple fact irritated me, because it made the man's words somewhat true. Not that I would ever admit it out loud, though.

'' _How the mighty have fallen''_

Well, yes, I was locked in a glass case without any contact without the outside world, with limited amount of magic I could use solely on the inside, and only my books as company. I did not look as strong, as powerful and demanding as my usual self, and I had experienced a rather important setback in my plans, so I knew far well how I looked like for the outside world: hopelessly defeated. It made me vaguely wonder if I was beginning to lose some of the dark reputation I had gained recently, and if I was on my path to becoming just one more washed out criminal nobody cares about in the long run.

Strategically speaking, that would have been the best case scenario, so one day I would be able to plot my way out of the cell without raising suspicion. Being underestimated carries it advantages, I would know since I had been treated that way most of my life. But it still made me angry, humiliated even, to think a mere low class could undermine me.

I was still a god, damnit! I was still able to inflict fear and dread in the hearts of men, and for the life of me, I would not permit others below me to dare imply I had fallen from grace.

I threw my book on the table, not interested in reading anymore, and I rested my back against the chair, closing my eyes so the blinding light of the ceiling would not bother me. Through my head, I kept hearing his words, and I knew I would not be able to distract myself with anything else for the day. Prison tended to make me think, and when I stopped to do so, rather dark thoughts came to mind.

Truthfully, I am not sure why their words bothered me so much. Through millennia, I had received countless opportunities to listen to what everybody thought about me, good and bad…especially bad, and had never been interested about it. Both in the form of whispers in the night when they thought I wasn't paying attention, or simply to my face in order to insult me, it did not really make a difference the way the message was distributed, and it did not take me long to hear almost all there is to it about me.

 _Here goes the god of lies and trickery, do not believe a word out of his royal mouth…_

 _Look at the one who puts us all to shame…_

 _Witness the killer, the one who will destroy us all…_

So on, so on.

There had been some good things said about me, of course, but lately I had heard only the bad ones, the ones uttered in the stillness, and darkest hour of the night. But I guess I could not really be surprised after my actions, for I had been quite busy in the past year. A failed attempt at taking control of a whole planet, and almost killing the precious golden son and heir to the throne in the process, really brings down one's reputation, and turns him into a bad guy. Well, a worse bad guy. I had never really been solely good.

Not like Odin anyway, the almighty king of Asgard, or Thor, the righteous protector of the land. Both were figures of war, symbols of strength, of power and wisdom that encouraged its citizens to believe in times of peace and prosperity for years to come.

Or some shit like that.

The truth about them was much darker actually, much nastier and messy, but either the noble citizens of Asgard were unaware of the reality behind the pretty veil, or they simply chose to ignore it. I was betting on the latter.

Suddenly I felt a presence, a shimmering in the air right next to me, and a current of air even though there were no windows in my cell. At the moment, maybe I was able only to create poor illusions for passing guards, but I never stopped being sensitive to magic. I could have felt it's manifestation even in my sleep.

I opened my eyes and stared at my left, where my mother was standing a few feet away from me in a regal pose and a small smile across her lips.

Well, not exactly. Her spirit form was there in the cell with me, when actually her body was somewhere in the palace performing the spell that allowed our meeting. Highly powerful criminals in glass cases do not really receive visitors, and the only way for us to meet was like this: a double version of her I could not touch or feel.

I saw her cradling one of the books in her hands, and her stare drifted towards the words on the page.

''The books I sent…did they not interest you?'' she asked in a casual voice.

I did not answer immediately, just stood up from the chair, and started pacing, walking all the way to the glass. I got as close as I could get without burning myself, and stared at the rows of new inmates coming in to spend their days in an Asgardian prison. They…varied in their shapes, sizes, colors, types of species basically, but what they had in common, was that they had managed to piss off a half blind fat man on a throne. It was the one thing that made just like them.

I felt my mother's presence somewhere behind me, and even though she was not speaking, I could tell she was getting restless. My silences were never a good sign, it usually meant I was plotting something mischievous and I so enjoyed making everybody else nervous around me. It was one of the few pleasures I liked to indulge myself with. But right then, I was not planning anything, I was merely figuring out what to say.

My mother's visits were always sort of bittersweet, appreciated and refreshing in my routine, but lonely nonetheless, and clearly I was not in my best day.

''Is that how I am to spend eternity? Reading?'' My vicious tongue formed the words before I had even thought them through, and it was like poison pouring out of me.

I heard my mother sigh, and through the glass I saw the tired expression on her face. As if she was preparing herself to deal with something so very draining.

''I have done everything in my power to make you comfortable, Loki'' she answered with a voice so very exhausted from…everything probably.

It made me feel a touch of guilt for putting her through this, for having her spend every afternoon in prison with me, and dealing with the way I lashed out when my solitary confinement got the better of me. On my good days, we were able to talk normally; about any number of things as long as it did not involve sensitive topics such as my sentence or my crimes. On my good days, I could pretend I was somewhat okay and fake a feeling of calmness for her.

But this was not one of my good days.

''Have you?'' I found myself asking in contempt, as I turned around and started pacing again. ''Does Odin share your concern? Does Thor?''

She closed her lips in a thin line then, and I understood what her words were not saying. I had always been better at reading someone else's body language, than with their actual spoken replies.

''It must be so inconvenient them asking after me day and night'' I said mockingly, with a smile on my face that had nothing to do with joy.

 _Pathetic,_ I thought again, but this time, I was referring to myself, and it disgusted me so much I wanted to scream.

One would think that after all these years I would have created a metaphorical armor around myself, a strong sturdy armor that could prevent me from getting too close, from getting hurt. But even though I had built the damn thing at some point in my chaotic life, it proved to be flawed, imperfect, and completely useless when it came to Odin, Thor and even Frigga. As much as I would have liked to pretend they meant nothing to me, the truth was a different matter.

I hated Odin with all the force I had, but the way he ignored me or showed his disappointment still pained me, still made me bleed as much as it had ever had, because foolishly, I still cared what he thought of me. The man had never visited me, not even once, had never asked about me, and had never cared. Was he even aware of how alone I was? How lost I felt in my own home? How disconnected with everything around me? Did he even ask himself these questions?

I doubted it. Far from his wife's intentions to keep connected to someone, to keep me sane, Odin decided to ignore me as if he had never raised me in the first place. As if I was not exactly what he made me to be.

And Thor… it was harder to think about Thor. It hurt even more somehow.

''You know full well it was your actions that brought you here'' My mother's voice made me focus on her again, and I chased away all sad thoughts in my head, they were useless anyway.

Her words were spoken in a way that resembled a mother speaking with a young child about his misbehavior. It was the calm and reassuring tone she used when she would find me performing one of my many acts of mischief as I was growing up.

''My actions?'' I said, in disgust. ''I was merely giving truth to the lie that I have been fed my whole life…that I was born to be a king''

I turned around again, because I did not want to see her expression. I knew what she thought about my actions, about my so called birthright that I had to force in order to achieve it. I knew how she looked at me. I knew she found me to be a horrible being capable of evil…but she still came every afternoon. She still cared even though some part of her was probably scared of me, and I did not want to see it manifested in her eyes.

''A king?'' She asked in a disbelieving tone. ''A true king admits his faults. What of the lives you took on Earth?''

''A mere handful to the ones Odin has taken himself''

She did not answer anything at first, and I knew there was really nothing she could say about my statement.

 _They call me god of lies, but my truths are the ones no one wants to hear._

What no one knew, (or just ignored really, because it is so much easier to just pretend the bad stuff is not there) is that Odin had built his throne on blood and conquer, with absolutely no remorse whatsoever in all the lives he had taken in the process. A now kind and caring ruler, who had once crossed the nine realms and decided that they would be his own, just because he could, because he had the power, and because no one stood in his way to say that his actions were wrong. No one ever imprisoned Odin, or dared to whisper to his back even a word about his actions. People just accepted his rule, embraced it, and worst of all, they even came to love him, as one would end up loving their captor.

So was he ever considered evil? Was he a force that should have been stopped at some point and thrown away somewhere because he had wished to rule, to make others serve him? Should he have been the one locked away in a cell for desiring a throne that wasn't his? Or should we all just kneel in front of his highness and respect his ambition?

Who could say? Maybe too much time had happened since his first conquering mission gave place, and his servant's minds just… forgot he had no real right to rule over them. Maybe after a few thousand years, old grudges die out and nobody cares anymore. Or maybe he was simply loved from the very beginning because all those people wished for a ruler as well. Maybe he wasn't evil at all, and he was simply meant to be a king. As I thought I could be. Still do, by the way.

Whatever the case may be, the truth is, Odin's hypocrisy still made me mad as hell, because I had only ever tried to follow his footsteps, to do better than him, but somehow, my idea of ruling, of being a king, was suddenly different from his, immoral and wrong. The way he judged me was sickening, sitting on his golden throne and announcing my sentence for my crimes committed on Earth, as if he had not done much worse than me in the past all for the sake of a crown. As if he did not have blood on his hands from his years of conquer. It was ironic to be called a monster by one who was just a bit as horrible as me.

His hypocritical attitude, his double standards, his sudden sense of moral made my blood run cold inside my body, even after all these years, and it made me tick like a bomb about to go off at any second.

''Your father…''

I will never know how that sentence ended, because as soon as I heard that word, that blatant lie, I lost it. The scream I had been building inside me for the last few minutes finally exploded out of my throat like it could not stay there anymore. And so I yelled with all my rage:

''He is not my father!''

The silence settled again, and I found myself breathing harshly, as if I had run through the whole bridge from the castle to the bifrost. I was at a point, that if I had been in control of my powers, I would probably have broken the glass, making it explode like the bomb inside me.

I suddenly felt more and more like a caged animal, a wild creature that should not be permitted to exist, but no one dares to kill it. Eventually, the creature just snaps, and it attacks anything or anyone it has in front, even those who it does not wish to harm.

''Then am I not your mother?'' She asked in a small, quivering voice, almost as if she was afraid of my answer.

I turned towards…Frigga, and stared at her. I stared at her golden hair and green eyes that did not match my own, at the way she kept her composure even after screaming to her face. I saw the way a normal Asgardian was supposed to look like, and suddenly I felt more out of place than ever before.

The way I looked was conditioned by a spell that made me look like an Asgardian, like a human even, but I was not one, far from it actually. My true form, the way I truly looked, even though I had never broken the spell to see it, was much more hideous, and so, so very different from anyone else. From her too.

In that moment, I did not see all those nights she had thought me magic while I was young, I did not see how she took care of me when I was sick, I did not see the countless times she protected me from Odin's wrath. I did not see the mother she had been in my memories, I only saw the differences between us, and it made me feel so very cold inside.

''You are not'' I said, in the same low voice, but much meaner, harsher than hers.

She looked at me in surprise then, and I saw her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. A sad, sad smile crossed her lips, and I felt the full power of my guilt on me, closing inside my stomach as if it could actually physically hurt me. Maybe it could.

''Always so perceptive…about everyone but yourself''

I immediately wished to take it back, to not hurt her like this anymore. I wanted to tell her my words were not true, that I had spoken out of anger, out of pain. I wanted to tell her she was the image I saw in my mind when I thought of the word ''mother'', and I wanted to tell her I had never thought of her as just Frigga.

But I could not. As talented as I was hurting others, making them as miserable as me, I was just as useless comforting them. Her pain was so clear in her eyes, it made the raging storm inside me calm down just a tiny fraction. I sighed and shook my head, wishing for words I could not utter, so instead I reached my hand forward trying to convey my message through a simple touch, and for a moment, I forgot she was not corporeal.

My hand went right through her, and her tears finally fell down as she started to disappear right in front of me. I had a few seconds notice before she vanished completely, but I did not use them properly to apologize, not even to mutter a goodbye.

Or to say ''I love you''.

I did not say anything, just stared at her disappearing form, and I was left alone in my cell again, wondering if she would come the next day or not.

My guess was that she would, because even though I had made many mistakes in my life, Frigga had always been there, had never really lost hope in me, and it was a reassurance I needed much more than I was comfortable admitting out loud. But part of me, though, part of me hated myself so very much, for disappointing her so many damn times.

I knew first hand she did not have that problem with her true son…as if he had always been so perfect. I felt other dark thoughts approaching, but this time, I could not force them back.

Thor, god of thunder and worthy wielder of Mjolnir. The future king of Asgard, and national hero to both our homeland and Earth. A fearless warrior, and strongest contender in any match met by his enemies. His recognition sounded so very appealing, so unbelievably brave… as long as one forgets the tiny little detail about the previous thousands of years he had spent avoiding his responsibilities, sleeping his way through the court and waging war like it was a sport for his entertainment.

He had been a brute then, a hard headed idiot who wanted nothing more than to keep entertaining himself with whatever pair of long legs that walked his way, and not caring an ounce about his ancestral home, or the small fact that he would someday inherit the damn place. He had never read or learned anything that did not involve the arts of war, and his sense of politics had always been deplorable.

And yet he was always respected, always loved, always supported and never doubted on, because, sure, who doesn't love an overly glorified fool who does not know the first thing about ruling properly? He made it seem easy, attractive even, and carefree.

Sure, he had somewhat changed his ways since that dark time, especially after meeting his human woman on Earth and fighting a few of their wars. He had seemed to become more serious, more focused on his task and on his future, shouldering his responsibilities for the first time in a really long time...

But did his current actions made his previous ones simply disappear? The millennium he had spent not caring about anyone or anything could be completely erased by the last two years he had decided to actually play the role he had been born into? Did everyone just closed their eyes and ears to the old Thor and never acknowledged his mistakes? Or did they simply not mind that he was and would never be fit to rule?

My mother's disappointment in me, I could see, I could even comprehend, but how could she not feel the same for her brute son? How could she not see Thor had always been just as unreliable, just as chaotic as me, but even less deserving of his birthright? How could she not see his flaws as easily as she saw mine?

It made me wonder why some people were accepted even though they were so flawed, while I was locked away in a cell until my death. Why were Odin, a mass killer and enforcer, and Thor, a child in a man's body, able to be so respected, so loved?

I had tried conquering, had tried spilling blood and arriving to other worlds with a golden armor and frightening weapons. I had worn the confidence of a king like a second skin, hidden my true appearance under a cloak, and perfected strategies Thor could never even dream off. I had started a fire inside me, feeding my ambition so I would never settle simply as the second son, as the prince of lies and deception. I had wanted more, and I had done everything in my power to reach my goal, and yet… I was hated, merely hated, when my Odin and Thor were showered with love. While they received a parade of roses, I found myself locked away in a cell on the bottom of my own kingdom.

Why did they get a free pass? What made them so different from me?

Almost without realizing my actions, I reached over by the table and shoved my hand to the pile of books. I spilled them all over the floor in what I feel is the very beginning of a fit of rage, and I started pacing.

At that time, all I seemed to do is pace, and the golden cage I had been encased in, was not big enough to hold me when I got that way.

I walked around but everywhere I went I just found the same glass containing me. I felt suffocated, encased, and with a desire to breathe fresher air so strong, it was the only thing I could think about. But I could not get away and I could not breathe, and that frustrated me so much, because with the force of a blow I realized: this was my life.

Never before had I been so aware of the train wreck that is my existence, until that moment. That very moment that is the peak of all my actions. All those things I did, the people I double crossed, the lives I took, the fear I induced, led me right there to that place, and to that life that suddenly was my own.

In that cell, I was not prince Loki, I was not the god of mischief, and I was not part of a family. In that cell I was…no one, I was unseen, unheard, unwanted. In that cell, I was a version of myself I hated but I could not get away from.

 _This is my life,_ I thought to myself.

If Odin had not lied about my heritage, had not deceived me my entire existence, had not casted me outside of his family without even so much as an explanation, maybe I would not be like this. If he had loved me just as much as Thor, if he had not taught me all there is to about being a strategist, if he had not showed me glory, maybe I would not be like this.

If Frigga had not taught me magic, if Thor had not been unworthy most of his life, if I had been born as an Asgardian, then who knows how my life would have been, what would have happened to me. Maybe…I would be have been different; maybe I would not need to crave attention as much as I did. Maybe I would have just existed more peacefully.

 _Maybe I would not have to live in a cell for all eternity._

The way I had been raised and the hand I had received from fate, had led me to this shameful, lonely and cruel existence, but at the same time it had mould me into exactly the person I was now: a powerful illusionist, a smart strategist, and an ambitious being who would never settle for less than what he deserved.

Maybe what had become of my life was not what I expected, maybe I wanted more, but I was still determined enough to get it. Somewhere inside me, the Loki who craved the throne, the Loki who could weave lies better than anyone, the Loki who could be all he ever desired still existed, and he wanted out. Soon.

I felt myself calming down, and I breathed deeply a few times with my eyes closed. Then I opened them, and bent down towards the books on the floor to pick them up. One by one I set them on the table in a small pile, just like the one before, and sat down in my chair again.

Silently, I decided that the next day I would not be so hard on my mother. I would pretend stability as best as I could, and enjoy her company. I would present her the Loki she knew and wanted to see: the one who discussed books and architecture and art, the one she remembered from simpler and innocent times.

And when I was alone in the darkest hours of the night, then I would bring out the other me: the one who was not completely sane, the one who wanted something so out of reach he needed to step on everything and everyone to get it. The one who scared the living shit out of every living thing.

But in the end…both of them were me.


End file.
